


The JLA Meets the Batfamily

by Batastic_Grayson



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman (Comics)
Genre: Alfred is on vacation, Batboys, Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Funny, Multi, Wayne Manor, justice league - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 13:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15909114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batastic_Grayson/pseuds/Batastic_Grayson
Summary: Bruce hosts a JLA meeting at the manor on a Saturday morning out of desperation. None of the batboys read the group texts and chaos ensues.





	The JLA Meets the Batfamily

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own DC or the characters. I do own this story.   
> Thanks for reading!

**_Diana_ **

 

                The Wayne manor is always a bit disarming upon first glance. Its sheer size is enough to make anyone gawk, but the structure of the manor itself is painstakingly detailed. Stones filigreed in carvings, climbing ivy, windows gleaming like clear pools of water. It’s a lovely place, cropped in by expansive gardens, a gravel driveway, and a small lake, but Bruce is private. It isn’t often that the League gets a personal invitation to meet here.

                I suppose the only reason he offered is because he must.

            The Watchtower is out of commission due to our last run-in with Brainiac and the Hall of Justice was leveled six months back during Doomsday’s invasion. It’s been an eventful few months and having no place to meet for our weekly team briefings has been…problematic. Our rendezvous point for today fell through this morning, and Bruce had been kind enough to offer up the manor as a last-minute surrogate HQ. But, I know he doesn’t like the situation. He would prefer if his personal and professional circles never crossed.

            I smirk to myself, thinking how much trouble that conviction has given the two of us, especially.

            When I knock on the front door to the manor and am greeted not by Alfred, but by Bruce himself, I’m pleasantly surprised. I’m even more surprised by the fact that he’s not wearing a suit, but instead a grey pull-over, jeans, and a pair of black socks. His inky hair is hastily combed, but curling slightly from a recent shower, and I smile when I see the evidence of a slight beard casting shadows on his fine-lined jaw.

            It was a very last-minute venue change.

            He shifts a bit under my inspection, although his slate eyes are doing much the same to me. Eventually his gaze flutters up to mine, and he nods lightly, “Diana. Come in. The others are in the sitting room.”

            I step past him, warmed by the smell of lemon polish, leather, and old wood. It’s a smell I associate with Bruce, and I smile when he closes the door behind us and begins striding towards the sitting room. I follow him, still trying to get used to the image of him padding around in socks and sweater. It’s all very homey, and certainly enough to make me feel soft.

            “Where’s Alfred?”

            “Vacationing off the island of Presco for the next three weeks.”

            I lift a brow in surprise, “Alfred takes vacations?”

            Bruce chuckles dryly, “Not willingly, but he will if I pester him enough. I’ve been trying to get him to take some time off for the past six months. He deserves it after all he does.”

            I nod, making a show of peering up at the rafters above us as we travel down a long hallway towards the sitting room. The décor is old and stuffy, but still somehow tasteful. When my eyes swing back to Bruce’s shoulders in front of me, I can’t help but smile a little bit when I see that the tag of his sweater is sticking out.

            I tuck it back in for him thoughtlessly, earning myself a flushed glare even as I grin, “You look very…casual today.”

            Bruce scoffs, and I can see that familiar pride marking his dark brow when he casts me a sidelong glance and frowns, “Yes well, it’s Saturday. I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

            I smirk, tempted to reach over and play with the curl of hair forming at the nape of his neck, “Well, I like it. It’s a good look for you. Very…domestic.”

I almost say cute, but I hold my tongue. Best not to push my luck too much.

            He gives a grumpy hum, eyes darkening a shade even as I see that telltale flush creep up from the collar of his sweater.

            A few moments later, we can hear the sound of voices from down the hallway, and I can already pick out the laugh of Wally from here, loud and boisterous. The smell of baked goods and coffee is drifting from the expansive doors ajar ahead of us, and it isn’t long before we’re joining the others in the sitting room.

            The rest of the league founders are spread about the room in various states of comfort. J’onn is uncomfortably erect in a recliner, holding a saucer with tea in one hand, his eyes studying the room carefully. Hal and Wally share the loveseat, and they’re currently in the throes of competing for whose story is the most awe-inspiring. Hal is winning, although only by a small margin. On the far couch, Clark is seated with his shoes off, looking very much at home with the plate of cookies, and Vic sits next to him, flicking through his phone absently.

            “Hey, there they are!” Clark says warmly, offering the plate of cookies to me with a smile. I take one, unsurprised when Bruce turns down the offering and takes a seat in a wing-backed chair nearest to Clark.

            “Bruce, settle this for us, would you consider a run-in with Captain Boomerang or Parallax more thrilling?” Wally takes a cookie from the plate, devouring it in a cloud of crumbs, but his eyes are trained on Bruce eagerly.

            Hal crosses his arms over his chest, looking grouchy at best, and purses his lips, “Your villain is an overenthusiastic member of the ultimate frisbee league, and you think he’s more exciting than an interdimensional fear-demon?”

            Bruce, in his typical demeanor, swallows a mouthful of piping hot coffee and levels them both with a glare, “We have business to attend to gentlemen.”

            “But just for the sake of competition, who wins?” Hal presses, lifting his chin as if he’s already won the battle.

            Wally takes another cookie, pleading around a mouthful of chocolate chips and macadamia nuts, “Oh come on Bats. Don’t be a sour puss—just humor us.”

            I suppress an internal smile at the irritation I see flashing behind that carefully constructed façade, and it makes me want to reach over and grab his hand just to ease the tension in his shoulders. He’s already on edge, and we haven’t even made it past the first agenda item.

            I inhale a sigh, taking a sip of the coffee I was offered a few moments ago by Clark. It’s warm and stirring, probably expensive, and I take a moment to savor it before smiling at Hal and Wally, who are still bickering back and forth.

            “Boys, let’s try to stay on task. Bruce has been kind enough to offer up the manor for our meeting, but I doubt he wants us here all morning. Let’s focus on the matters at hand.”

            J’onn leans forward, speaking for the first time since we entered, and I find that his low-toned voice is a welcome change in the room’s atmosphere. “I agree with Diana. We have many things discuss and not much time to do so. We should begin.”

            Bruce frowns from his position in the wingback chair, looking every bit the part of billionaire recluse when he crosses his arms over his chest and lifts a brow, “Yes, we should. I sent out the agenda in an email you all should have received last night. It’s mostly scheduling conflicts, shift duties, assemblies we’ll be required to attend. However, I’ve also attached an addendum to the bottom of email. There are several quadrants that have requested our intervention in problematic affairs, and I thought it prudent that we discuss the merits now rather than later.”

            The men set about analyzing the first assistance beacon message requesting intermediation between two feudal states off-world, and I feel myself disconnecting from the group to simply observe. Clark, as always, is animated and intense in discussion. He makes up his mind quickly, sometimes naively, but he is steadfast in his convictions and I have always admired him for it. Hal and Wally inevitably end up taking opposing stances, which usually ends in an argument, but they settle for shooting each other dirty looks. Vic spends a good deal of time doing research in the vast pool of knowledge he has access to, always serious, always level-headed in his approach. J’onn usually offers the most peaceful approach possible, and this time is no different.

            However, Bruce is the most interesting to me, because he usually does what I’m doing right now. He watches and he waits. His cool gaze is intent on the group as they argue amongst themselves, but I can see his mind working behind those carefully guarded eyes. His opinion is often the most unpopular amongst us, but it is usually the most realistic. Having the courage to speak his mind, even when it often directly confronts others’, has always been a strength Bruce uses with ease. He is absolute in his mind, firm in his ideations, and always calm in his delivery.

            It’s probably why I’m so attracted to him. I just can’t seem to help myself.

            Somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark, when Hal has started to passionately argue with Clark over some humanitarian fine point, we hear the first thud. It’s a loud sort of thump from above us, a bit like someone dropped a dumbbell on the upper floor, and we all look up at the filigreed ceiling. The first sound is followed by another loud thud, this time accompanied by an expensive sounding crash, and then the sounds of shouted cursing float through the ceiling.

            I look back to Bruce, who is staring steadily up at the ceiling with murder glinting in his eyes, and I do my damndest to smother a smile. I only half way succeed when I lift a brow and murmur, “Do you need to get that?”

            Bruce’s heather eyes flash to mine, and his jaw works a moment to contain a vicious scowl, “No. Please continue.”

            The rest of us exchange glances, attempt to begin speaking again, but the voices from above us are increasing in volume. The sounds of running filter through expensive mahogany floorboards, and I can make out a muffled, _“I’m gonna fucking kill you for that, Damian!”_

            Bruce’s eyes narrow, and he grits out a tight-lipped, “Please. Continue.”

            Clark shifts uncomfortably, looking as though he’s trying to step around a land mine, but he’s wise enough to obey. He swallows, attempts a serious expression, “Um…as I was saying, the people of—”

            _“Get your hands off me, Drake. When Father hears about this—”_

_“He’s gonna wring your skinny little neck before he does mine. Do you know how expensive that was? How long it took me to get that?”_

            _“You shouldn’t have put it there.”_

_“You shouldn’t be practicing with your katana inside the fucking house!”_

By this time, we’ve given up on continuing our conversation, but we’re all watching Bruce waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s a bit like seeing metal slowly heat up in a fire. From cool grey to piping red. For Bruce, it takes only a few moments of listening to the bickering, the threats of violence, from the boys upstairs before I see the tether in his eyes break. He inhales a sharp sigh, unfolds his to full height, and levels an icy glare at the doorway.

            “Excuse me just a moment.”

            He leaves in a cloud of dark irritation and fresh shower smell, passing by me with his fists already curled, and it takes only a few moments of him being out of the room before Wally and Hal start giggling amongst themselves. Clark sips his orange juice silently, looking up at the ceiling above us with mirth in his eyes, as if to warn the wrestling teenagers upstairs of their impending doom. I simply sink deeper into my chair, trying to compose myself ahead of time.

            We hear a soft, _“Oh shit.”_       

            It’s hard not to laugh a little when the hurried sounds of arguing muffle their way through the floor, and I can pick out the hard lines of Bruce’s voice even without understanding the words. I catch only a few phrases of his speech, but it’s enough that I know he’s putting the fear of God into those boys. It’s a few more moments of whispered cursing before I hear a sharp, “ _Go to your rooms and do not come out until I release you both.”_

We all have to muffle our laughs when we hear the telltale skulking of feet away from the scene of the crime, and we barely manage to keep it together when Bruce stalks back into the sitting room with cheeks flushed in rage and hair disarrayed. He says nothing when he sits fluidly, smooths his sweater, and then levels all of us with a cool glare.

            “I apologize. Please. Continue.”

            I admire his drive to stay the course, but the team is distracted and frenzied when we try to resume our schedule. Wally and Vic keep hiding smiles behind fists and coughs, and Clark is regularly overcome with small snorts when he and Bruce make eye contact. Even I have a hard time not smiling when Bruce’s vengeful eyes flash to mine, and his color flushes a little darker. J’onn is the only one who seems truly calm, and that’s mostly because he doesn’t quite understand earth humor yet.

            It takes thirty minutes for the league to properly sober themselves, and we begin discussing the peace accords being held on Oa next month. Who is going, proper etiquette when meeting the Guardians, whom to avoid and why. Bruce starts to relax a little.

            It isn’t long before another disruption is diverting our attention though, and this time, it’s accompanied by boisterous singing. It starts off quiet, coming from the other side of the house, and no one takes too much notice. But the pitch grows in octave and strength, until it’s quite clear that whoever is singing is both a terrible singer and a beloved fan of ABBA classics. I can feel Bruce shrinking in on himself more than I can see it, and to his credit, he cringes only a slight bit when his eldest son comes bursting into the sitting room with loud song.

            “Who’s ready for donuts!?”

            We look up in tandem from the quadrant map spread on the coffee table, and it’s quite a shock to find Dick Grayson standing in the doorway in naught but his underwear, carrying a pink box of donuts, earbuds dangling from his neck and blasting ABBA faintly. He has a sprinkled donut halfway to his mouth when he realizes he’s interrupted our meeting, and it stays suspended in air for several moments as his eyes, a vibrant blue, widen.

            Clark lifts a hand to give a friendly wave, biting back a grin when he mutters, “Hey Dick.”

            I did not know someone could turn as red as he does, but Dick certainly resembles a very embarrassed tomato when his eyes jolt from Clark to Bruce, now glowering, and he lowers the donut box to cover himself abruptly. He stutters out, “Uh…you’re having a meeting.”

            Bruce’s jaw tics dangerously, his eyes darker than dove’s wings, “Yes. I notified everyone in the group text.”

            Dick nods, “Oh. Right.”

            “You didn’t read it did you.”

            “Uh…” Dick chuckles awkwardly, looking like he wants to dissolve into the floorboards, and he shakes his head. “No. No I didn’t.”

            I think Bruce must momentarily forget us, caught up in the role of parent, because those eyes flash murder again and he growls, “How many times have I told you to read the damn texts, Dick? Do you think I just send them out for fun?”

            “I…I thought you would call if it was really important?”

            There’s an intense moment of staring between the two, mostly Dick looking rather sheepish and Bruce looking like he’s about to start hitting for distance, before a second guest breaks the silence by waltzing backing in through the side door with a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. Even from the back, the leather and overall posture gives him away as Jason, Bruce’s second son.

“Who’s ready to get fucking roasted in laser tag!” He whips around with several plastic pistols and vests in his arms, giving a roguish grin. Upon seeing us though, his expression falls to vague disappointment, and he drops his helmet on a couch with a grunt. “Well _you’re_ not the batfamily. When the hell did we change plans, B?”

Bruce growls, levering to his feet roughly, “Oh for fuck’s sake, does _anyone_ read any of my goddamn texts?”

            Clark chokes on his orange juice, and I find myself having to hide a laugh behind a pillow when Jason waltzes forward and collects a cookie from the platter, ignoring the rest of us with ease, “Yeah, well, maybe you should call if it’s something this urgent. I came in here expecting to shred your ass in laser tag, and you’ve got all your boring friends over to play dress up.” He lifts a hand as he pops the cookie in his mouth, grinning, “No offense.”

            Hal snorts, muttering, “None taken.”

            Jason shrugs, striding over to Dick to rest an elbow on the slightly shorter man’s shoulder. He seems unfazed by Dick’s near nudity, and certainly unbothered by the audience when he plucks a donut from the box and begins munching, “You promised a day off, B. No league. No bats. Just _family bonding_.” He says the last words with air quotes, clearly relishing the scathing glare he’s receiving from Bruce.

            Bruce steeples his hands beneath his chin, his eyes closing in an attempt to be civil, “Is this really the time for this conversation, Jason?”

            Dick seems emboldened by Jason’s presence, and he lifts a shoulder slightly, looking sheepish, “You _did_ promise, Bruce.”

            Jason smirks, elbowing Dick in the ribs fondly, “See? Even Dickiebird agrees. Reschedule your little playdate and meet us down in the cave. Damian’s already called the red vest, but I’ll save you the green one. I know it’s your favorite.” He winks, dragging Dick after him as he calls over his shoulder, “Nice to see you all again.”

            The boys move down the hallway in a bustle of hushed laughter and curse words, and it’s several moments before their sound is joined by two more boys, escaped from their rooms and fighting over gun colors. Their laughter recedes until the seven us are sitting in silence, waiting for Bruce to either explode in rage or simply puff away in a cloud of smoke. To my surprise he remains stoic, staring at the doorway with narrowed eyes, no doubt plotting his revenge on his meddling children.

            I think about letting him suffer just for the fun of seeing him have to explain away his children’s behavior, but him planning an entire day with them is just too sweet an image to destroy.

            I rise, feeling immensely and warmed and entirely too light. “I have some pressing matters to attend to in Themascyra. I feel that the rest of our meeting can be postponed until a later date, don’t you agree, Clark?”

            Clark looks up, stalling a moment as he catches my meaning, before he levers to his feet abruptly and nods, “Yep. I have a…family lunch to get to. So…uh, yeah. Let’s set up a virtual meeting via email, yes?”

            Bruce glowers, but he doesn’t argue.

            The rest of the members gradually make their excuses, most of them still smothering giggles and murmurs, and they file out of the room with warm goodbyes. They leave one by one until it’s just Bruce and I left in the sitting room.

            He remains silent, eyes cold and stubborn as they watch the doorway, but I can still see the flush staining his skin at the collar of his sweater. His hands are still fisted at his sides, ready to pounce. Hera, he’s cute when he’s angry.

            I tilt my head at him, offering him a soft smile, “Hey. You alright?”

            Eyes like slate jump to mine, and he scowls, “I’m fine.”

            I take a step forward, careful not to get too close. I don’t necessarily want to push him away, but I certainly don’t want to leave. Not just yet.

            “You know…” I lift a shoulder, trying to sound encouraging. “I don’t think anyone minded the interruptions. It was…”

            “Humiliating?” Bruce finishes for me, mouth cut in hard lines.

            I smile, taking another step forward, “No. It was a welcome distraction. We all needed to laugh today.”

            His gaze is a little less hostile as he studies me, but his voice is still brooked in with embarrassment and tightness when he speaks. “I have an image to maintain, Diana. A symbol. These kinds of things, these _personal_ overlaps…”

            I’m standing close enough now that we’re almost touching, “They humanize you, Bruce. They make you more real.” I smile, arching a brow at his grumpy expression, “To be honest, I think Wally might be more afraid of you after seeing you with your boys.”

           His mouth softens a bit, and his dove grey eyes narrow, “And why is that?”

           “A man who can be the bat one moment and father of four the next…that’s a force to be reckoned with.”

           Bruce’s last sliver of tension dissolves into a soft laugh, and he shakes his head. He looks younger with the lines of anger melting away, his mouth tugged into a begrudging smile, and he pushes a hand through that still damp hair, “Yeah, well. It’s not the image I was going for, that’s for sure.”

           I smile, pushing just a little bit closer. We’re sharing the same space now, and I can smell the coffee on his breath as his gaze studies me intently. “Well, I like it.”

           His eyes are now like abalone, lighter than before, and he lifts a knowing brow, “Oh really?”

           I nod sedately, and like I’ve wanted to do for years, I lean in slightly and press a chaste kiss to his lips. It’s a brief brush, more like a sip than a full drink, but it’s enough. When I pull back and smirk at him, it feels good knowing the blush racing across his cheeks was put there by me.

           I step back, “Really.”

           Bruce arches a brow, pursing his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest, “Remind me to wear sweaters and get into arguments with children more often.”

           I laugh, and I pull on my coat that I left in my chair. He watches me button my coat, gaze intent and steady, and we wave at each other when I duck out the room and start heading down the hallway. It’s a few minutes of walking before I reach the entryway, and I can’t be sure, but I swear that I hear the sounds of laughing deep from the halls of the manor. I step out onto the gravel of the front drive just as the sounds of feet running on slick wood begin thundering above me, accompanied by giggling and curses.


End file.
